


The Man From The North

by AsturianBear5



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-10-11 17:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20550257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsturianBear5/pseuds/AsturianBear5
Summary: Following the adventures of an OC protagonist around Middle Earth in the years preceding the Hobbit and between the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. Cross-posted from AH.Com.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**   
** The Stranger**

I was 12 when I left home. My name is Thorgil and I was born in the town of Esgaroth in the year 2916 of the Third Age. My father was one of the best fishermen in the town, and regularly traded with the elven-king, Thranduil, in Mirkwood. One day, I was helping my father deliver a large cart of fish to Thranduil, but helping the elves who were unloading the cart was a strange man. He was not of Esgaroth or anywhere in the north, in fact he looked more like the elves than me. He was very tall, he had joyous green eyes and brown hair and beard, with specks of grey.

“Child, what is your name?” The stranger asked me suddenly. His voice had a strange accent that I had never heard before.

“It-It is Thorgil, sir,” I replied.

“There is no need to call me sir, Thorgil. I am Barahir and I come from a land far to the south from here called Gondor. Have you ever heard of Gondor, Thorgil?”

“Only in tales and stories of long past Mr Barahir.”

“Well, young Thorgil, I am a blacksmith and have journeyed for a long time to sell my produce to the Elves of Mirkwood and Men of Esgaroth, but I will return to Gondor. I am in need of a new apprentice and I would desire you to fill that role.”

I was immediately taken aback, and so was father. This stranger who I had met for just a minute wished to take me on as an apprentice and take me to live in the legendary land of Gondor, hundreds of miles to the south.

“Thorgil, what do you think?” Father seemed interested by the proposal.

“Well it would be a great honour Mr Barahir. But I must consult with my father.”

I walked a few metres away with father. My father was a tall and hardy man, like most in Esgaroth, and he had a kindly face. “Thorgil, this is a great opportunity which you should not turn down. Just think, you will be going to Gondor, a land celebrated in too many songs for me too count. Why would you stay in grimy lake-town?”

He spoke the truth, and without thinking I told him “I will go to Gondor.”

\---

Four months later, I was rowing a boat carrying me and Barahir down the River Running. Behind me was the town of my youth, which I had deserted. At the time I believed that I would never again see Esgaroth. It was a mess of wooden structures, built haphazardly on the long lake, of course this was before King Bard rebuilt the town following the Battle of the Five Armies.

After a few hours, I asked Barahir, “How long will it take us to get to Gondor.”

Barahir rubbed his beard and replied, “Most likely a year, but this depends on how kind the Valar are to us.” His words greatly surprised me. I knew Gondor was far away, but I thought we would be there in two months at the most. That was also the fifth time he had mentioned the Valar, and I still had no idea what they were.

“What are the Valar and why does it take that long to get to Gondor?”

“Thorgil, you ask so many questions,” he rumbled with a great laugh. “The Valar are twelve great beings who shaped the world and defeated the first darkness. They can be both kind and harsh. The journey takes so long because it is fraught with danger. Surely you must have heard of the dark shadow of Dol Goldur?” I nodded and he continued, “The great forest is full of the Necromancer's evil creations, making it dangerous to traverse. We could travel to the east of the forest, but that leads us into the Brown Lands, leaves us open to attacks from hordes of Easterlings and worst of all, it takes us far, far to close to the borders of Mordor. I plan on travelling down this river for a short while, then travelling through the Mountains of Mirkwood, rowing again, this time down the great river Anduin, and finally walking the last stretch to the great citadel of Minas Tirith.”

That was quite a lot of information for me to digest, but I took it all in. Stories of the terrors released from the dark tower of Dol Guldur had even reached Esgaroth, and every lake man knew that beyond the elven-king's halls, Mirkwood was a very dangerous place. However, I was most interested in this dangers in the east that he mentioned.

“Barahir,” I asked yet again, “Why are Mordor and the Easterlings so dangerous?”

He chuckled and then said, “You are full of questions, young one! The Easterlings are a foul and violent people who wish to kill all who are good in the world, especially Men of Gondor, like me. Mordor is a black land, where evil resided thousands of years ago. That evil was a powerful being called Sauron, who was only defeated by a great alliance between the Men of Gondor and the Elven High King. Anyone who goes near that place does not return.”

Barahir sounded very ominous as he told me about Mordor, but to me the world was still small at that point, leading to my next question, “so is Thranduil the Elven High King?”

He laughed again after that, “Oh Thorgil, you have much to learn, Thranduil is a weak lord as Elves go, one day you may see the halls of the great Lords Elrond and Cirdan and the Lady Galadriel. So far I have only seen Imladris, the realm of Lord Elrond and Thranduil's halls are no better than Esgaroth compared to it, no offense intended of course.

Over the next week, he decided to educate me as much as possible and told me all the great tales, those of the Noldor, of Beren and Luthien as well as the Tragedy of the Children of Hurin. Then he told me about the Fall of Gondolin and the War of Wrath. I was amazed by his tales of the greatness of Numenor and it’s tragic fall, then he continued on to the War of the Last Alliance, the Fall of Arnor, the Ship Kings of Gondor and finally the Battle of Celebrant Field. By the time the great peaks of the Mountains of Mirkwood were in sight, I felt that I knew as much as any Gondorian.


	2. The Mountains of Mirkwood

**Chapter Two**   
**The Mountains of Mirkwood**

I decided that I hated mountains very shortly after stepping foot in Mirkwood's peaks. I felt that I was is a great sea of stone, with mist hanging all around you, making it difficult to see your own feet at times, and putting Barahir on edge. He had already warned me not to trust any beast or bird and had told what Orcs were and that I must always be wary of them while in Mirkwood.

  
We travelled for four days, only encountering beasts and birds, many of whom Barahir killed with his sword. On the fifth day we heard footsteps approaching and Barahir drew his sword and shouted “State your name stranger!”

  
The footsteps stopped, and the stranger said “I am Gandalf the Grey, Man of Gondor, although some know me as Mithrandir.”

  
Barahir was still wary of Gandalf, “Show your face, you may be some fell trick of the Necromancer.”

  
The footsteps continued until I could see his face. He had a great grey beard and a pointy grey cap; he was clad in a grey cloak. “I must ask what a Man of Gondor and a Man of Esgaroth are doing in the Mountains of Mirkwood,” his voice seemed very wise to me.

  
“I am Barahir, son of Earnil. I am but a blacksmith travelling from the halls of King Thranduil to Minas Tirith with my apprentice, Thorgil, a Man of Esgaroth.”

  
Gandalf's face was patient, “Barahir is a name of the West. I am surprised that ‘but a blacksmith’ would have such a name. Barahir, son of Earnil, I do not think you are who you say you are.”

  
I was shocked by this revelation, if he’s not a blacksmith, what does Barahir want with me, was the question going around my head.  
“Back off wizard,” growled Barahir, “This is none of your business. Gondor has no need for fools like you.”

  
Gandalf suddenly grew very tall and roared “What are you going to do with the boy then?”

Barahir slashed at Gandalf with his sword, but the Wizard slammed his staff into the blade, which then shattered. Barahir squealed and tried to run, but Gandalf pinned him to the floor with his staff. Quieter, but no less dangerous, he said “What were you going to do with the boy?”

  
Barahir whimpered and said “The steward...We...We were going to help him, take back the North. But you stopped our only chance of victory for his people, Gandalf the Fool.”

  
This obviously confused me, I had no idea what he was talking about, who were my people going to have victory against? I had thought of Barahir as a great, strong man but he seemed pathetic compared to Gandalf.  
“GOOOO!” bellowed Gandalf and Barahir ran off. Then Gandalf turned to me, and I started to back away from the dangerous wizard. He looked at me kindly and said, “Do not be afraid Thorgil, I will not hurt you.”

  
“What did Barahir want?”

  
“Personally, he wanted nothing. He was not a blacksmith, but an important lord in Gondor and was acting on the order of Steward Turgon, the ruler of Gondor. I am not entirely sure what Turgon wants, but I have my suspicions.”

  
I was distraught at first, because I believed that my chance to see Gondor had passed and I must return to dreary lake-town, but Gandalf had other ideas.

  
“Come, Thorgil. I will take you to Minas Tirith and find out why Turgon desires you.”

  
Gandalf and I travelled across the mountains into the safer area of the Anduin River. All the time I was with Gandalf, no beasts and birds approached us, it was like he was driving them away. Of course, I had no idea exactly what the Istari were back then, but the more I think about it now it is clear that the Necromancer's servants were scared of him.


End file.
